I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 88

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————

Too Many Profitable Talents — Episode 88
“Kim Soo-yeon, would you please move to the Awards Ceremony Hall?”
I nodded.
There was no rush.
I could think about how to use the Roulette Ticket later.
For now, it was time to face this moment and savor it.
Following the guide’s lead, I arrived at the Awards Ceremony Hall on the second floor, where many people were waiting.
A photo wall set against the window.
A trophy and prize money board displayed beside the stage.
And in front of them, the relentless flash of cameras from the assembled journalists.
I sat in the winner’s seat and steadied my breathing, then the MC proceeded with the ceremony.
“We will now hold the awards ceremony for the 60th DN Auto Masters Championship. This newly revived tournament began with an amateur selection round and culminated in this long journey that saw top international players from China and Japan compete fiercely before the greatest player, the Master, emerged.
It wasn’t my first championship victory.
But in this moment, I still felt the thrill and weight of it all.
‘Victory.’
The sense of achievement these two words carried.
A feeling I doubted I’d ever tire of, even if I lived a thousand years.
The MC’s voice rose.
“Our thirteenth Master, Kim In-ha, please come forward!”
I stood and walked quietly up onto the stage.
The DN Auto Executive and Lee Sang-woo, the Secretary-General of the Korea Baduk Association, placed the trophy and prize money board into my hands.
Their weight felt familiar.
‘I’ll get used to it more.’
I’d fill my shelf at home with trophies until the display case ran out of room.
Then came the commemorative photographs.
The unrelenting burst of camera shutters.
And the interview the journalists had been desperately waiting for finally began.
“Master Kim In-ha, congratulations on your victory. Would you share your thoughts?”
I gazed at the microphone for a moment, then opened my mouth quietly.
“Above all, I’m truly delighted to have won at the Masters Championship—the most traditional and emblematic tournament of our sport. I’d like to take this opportunity to express my gratitude to DN Auto, our generous sponsor.”
After finishing, I bowed deeply toward the DN Auto Executive seated in the front row.
Formal and understated.
The executive in the front flinched in surprise, but quickly composed himself with practiced ease, rose from his seat, and returned the bow.
True to form for a major corporation executive.
‘……That’s probably what a sponsor wants.’
Me, as the Masters winner.
On that symbolic stage, authoritatively mentioning and honoring the sponsor—a perfect scene.
It was a performance for the sponsor, certainly.
But ultimately, it was for me as well.
Showing that if I signed a sponsorship contract with them, moments like this would follow.
A performance that demonstrated I could reshape an image and elevate a brand.
I interpreted the advice Jung Soo-yeon had given me in my own way—precisely as it was meant.
The MC resumed the proceedings.
“Today’s match must have been challenging. Did you feel any pressure?”
“It was good pressure. It kept me focused.”
“A witty answer befitting Master Kim. Now we’ll take questions from the press.”
The MC pointed to one of the journalists with a raised hand.
“We heard that in the final match, despite a penalty issue involving Tsuhao 9-dan, you said, ‘Let’s just leave it.’ What was your reasoning?”
An expected question.
I smiled faintly and answered.
“I thought I’d win anyway.”
In fact, I had been in an advantageous position, and I hadn’t thought I’d lose even without pressing the penalty issue.
The journalist nodded, satisfied, and took notes.
Then, as if to cut through the moment, another hand shot up.
It was the Chinese Reporter.
“Due to regulations set by the Korea Baduk Association, a Chinese player was disadvantaged during the match. Some are arguing it was unfair competition. What’s your take on that?”
Low and forceful tone.
Emotion was threaded through every word.
As the interpreter conveyed it, not only the Korean journalists but also the representatives from the Korea Baduk Association and DN Auto visibly stiffened.
I looked quietly at the Chinese Reporter.
“That’s possible, yes.”
The reporter’s eyebrows twitched at my words.
It must have sounded like a partial concession.
“But you know the saying—when in Rome, follow Roman law. Besides, I requested the penalty be lifted, and after coordination, the match resumed. I’m not sure what the problem is.”
A crisp rebuttal.
The Chinese reporter’s lips trembled.
“My concentration was broken, and the flow of the game was disrupted. Even accounting for the difference in regulations…….”
“Excuse me.”
I cut him off.
Holding his gaze, I continued slowly.
“Then let’s do the same in Chinese tournaments. Of course, assuming I break the regulations there too.”
In that moment, the tips of his pen-holding fingers trembled faintly.
Tremor-tremor.
A sign his pride had been wounded.
Precisely, the entire Chinese Go world might have felt the scratch.
The Chinese reporter, still standing, spoke through gritted teeth.
“……I look forward to your performance at Chinese tournaments.”
That tone of voice.
Beneath the flat delivery, I could sense suppressed resentment and resolve.
The old saying goes: at home, you win half before you even start.
There was an undertone of “let’s see about that.”
I nodded slightly, offering neither smile nor sneer.
“Ah, reporter. In that case, you could write your article in advance.”
I paused briefly before adding,
“The Jinran Cup could very well be held at someone else’s table.”
At that, the Chinese reporter’s expression twisted.
The face that had been suppressing emotion could no longer hide it, crumpling slightly.
The atmosphere froze for a moment.
The moderator picked up the microphone with an awkward laugh.
“Well then, let’s take the next question.”
I took a quiet sip of water.
I was already anticipating the ripples that would spread from what I’d just said.
But it didn’t matter.
I was the type to prove things through results, not words.

* * *
I rested well for two days.
Go is a sport that demands considerable mental stamina.
I focused on recovery—eating well, sleeping well.
Of course, I didn’t skip my morning workout.
The Compound National Team 2nd Selection Tournament was coming up next week.
Without at least a light run, my body would feel sluggish and unbearable.
After finishing my morning workout and a quick shower, I got straight into the car.
Whether from the lingering effects of exercise or something else, my body still held a faint warmth.
I cracked the window open slightly.
Cool air brushed across my face as the window lowered.
Winter had crept surprisingly close on this day.
“About time for a call to come through…….”
Just as I started the engine and was waiting, a familiar notification chimed through the hands-free system.
A call from Jang Yu-na, 2-dan.
I took a moment to breathe deeply before pressing the answer button.
“Hello? Our Nameless is connected! Can you hear my voice? We’re on air right now.”
“Yes, hello.”
My first schedule of the day.
Jang Yu-na’s morning live stream appearance.
Since my Nameless days, this broadcast had built an unusually devoted fanbase in my favor.
Even if it was just a phone appearance, I’d agreed as a kind of fan service.
Her signature bright voice came through the speaker.
“Congratulations on your championship victory, Nameless! Let’s give him a hand!”
“Thank you. It’s all thanks to the viewers’ support.”
Amid a warm and cheerful atmosphere, Jang Yu-na and I exchanged conversation on a variety of topics.
We stuck mostly to questions that viewers had been curious about.
“There’s been quite a stir from the Chinese side lately. Did you happen to see the articles?”
“No, I haven’t looked at them in detail.”
“Apparently the Chinese Go Association filed a protest over Korean regulations. Tsuhao suffered because of it, they say. Something about demanding fair tournament operations?”
“……That’s interesting.”
“Right? If you hadn’t suggested letting it go back then, it would’ve been much messier. Even now it’s this heated.”
I laughed quietly.
Jang Yu-na certainly knows how to host a broadcast.
Even when I give minimal responses, she deftly shapes the atmosphere and steers the conversation where it needs to go.
And she’s careful enough to make sure none of the heat splashes back onto me.
“Oh, look at the time! Before we go—a final word for our viewers, if you don’t mind?”
I paused, choosing my words carefully.
The words people want to hear.
“Please continue to support Jang Yu-na’s broadcast. As for me, I’ll repay that support with only victories—with Go that never loses. Thank you.”
“Flawless! Just as expected from our Nameless. Then I’ll see you at the Year-end Go Awards ceremony. We’re doing a long interview that day, and you can’t run away!”
“I’ll be looking forward to it most of all.”
“Thank you!”
The call ended, and silence returned to the car.
I rested my hands on the steering wheel and drew a long, deep breath.
“The year-end awards ceremony.”
The Korea Baduk Association had contacted me yesterday.
A request to attend the Year-end Go Awards ceremony next month without fail.
They said they’d be selecting recipients based on fan votes and performance among the domestic professionals who’ve distinguished themselves this year.
And then they added something.
I was a leading candidate for an award.
‘They said the Rookie Award is already locked in.’
The real question was whether I’d win Best Player or the Grand Prize.
Ciel Bank Championship, National Baduk Tournament—both titles in hand.
The results were strong enough, but Jung Si-hu also holds two titles now.
Competition was unavoidable.
“……I think I should put off the roulette for a while.”
My current roulette tickets look like this.
Two Platinum Roulette Tickets.
Two Gold Roulette Tickets.
One Talent Enhancement Ticket.
There was a strong possibility of additional rewards depending on my performance at the year-end ceremony and the Compound National Team 2nd Selection Tournament.
“Now isn’t the time.”
Blindly expanding Talent serves no purpose.
The combination I want, the flow, the goal.
When all of that becomes clear, that’s when I should spin strategically.
“Let’s go.”
I gripped the wheel and drove into the city.
Since the morning rush had passed, the roads were noticeably empty.
I crossed the Han River Bridge and switched lanes.
Second schedule of the day.
A broadcast station located in Yeouido.
My first appearance on public broadcasting variety—not cable or home shopping network.
-This is the last song.
On the surface it looks like a music variety show, but in reality it’s a talk show where people share their stories.
If “Hoo Today,” which I’d appeared on before, leaned toward healing, “This Is the Last Song” ranks first in viewership among all variety programs.
Each episode features a single guest who shares honest, heartfelt conversation mixed with laughter, then closes by selecting one song that encapsulates their life.
“We’re here.”
I parked in the broadcast station lot and collected myself.
I’d arrived thirty minutes early, but that was better than being late.
As I stepped into the building, I called the writer in charge.
“Hello. I just arrived.”
-Ah, yes! I’ll be right down. Please wait in the lobby for just a moment!
After hanging up, I stood quietly in one corner of the first-floor lobby, watching people pass by.
I half-hoped I might spot a celebrity, but so far no familiar faces had caught my eye.
That was when it happened.
“Excuse me… are you Kim In-ha, the professional Go player?”
A stranger had struck up a conversation.
His clothes were shabby and rumpled.
His face bore the marks of exhaustion.
From the employee badge hanging around his neck, he appeared to be someone from a broadcast station.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Han Gyeong-il, a producer. Looks like you’re here for a recording?”
“Ah, yes. I have a recording today for ‘The Final Song.'”
Before I’d even finished speaking, his eyes lit up.
As if something had just occurred to him.
After a moment of scratching his head, he broached the subject carefully.
“Ah, I see. If you don’t mind, I was wondering if you might consider appearing on one of our programs……”
The unexpected proposal made me tilt my head slightly.
It was far too sudden.
Though a bit taken aback, I asked nonetheless.
“May I ask what program that would be?”
He answered at once.
“The Masked Singer.”
Then, with a beat’s hesitation, he added carefully.
“By chance… do you sing well?”

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————